It's been just over six months since you quietly and carefully slipped out of our lives.
I unwittingly resorted my emails by date this morning, and an email from you appeared at the top of my inbox. It made my stomach jump.
We've been so busy with the baby, and I have to say, that's been really helpful. Nick said the other day that he was worried about how crushingly sad I was after you died. Jordan has made the most extraordinary difference in all our lives.
Jordan is so big and so much fun now. I wish you were here to see him. You would love him so much. He's nothing but joy, really.
He's got Nick's temperament, I think. Very even, very upbeat. I feel relieved about that. I worry about the depression genes.
I'm not sure who he looks like. A lot of Nick, but not totally. He has your and my blue eyes. I hope that as he grows, he has more things that remind me of you.
Sometimes I have dreams with you in them. Somehow, you're just out of reach. In retrospect, maybe you always were.
It's a beautiful, sunny fall day. Last winter and spring were tough, and honestly, I think if the weather hadn't been so relentlessly grim, if the sun had bothered to shine, you might still be with us.
I still have the what-ifs, although I now have more distance and am in a better place, so they don't hurt quite as much.
I miss you, though. I really do.